


Rebuilding Lucas

by toomanynames



Series: Surrounded by Spies [1]
Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ruth and Lucas friendship, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and also some sex, there is so much angst SO MUCH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1584551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanynames/pseuds/toomanynames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Series 9, Lucas tries to pick up the tattered pieces of his life and ends up falling in love in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebuilding Lucas

**Author's Note:**

> do you feel spoiled yet?
> 
> months of working on this, and then I finish it in a day aren't you all so lucky

_He thought about shooting Harry, almost did, his finger contracting around the trigger. But that wouldn't solve anything; it would only make it worse._

_He almost jumped. Standing on the ledge and thinking about his life and his failures, about Maya, and Sarah, Elizaveta. Russia. His insides were in agony and he couldn't stand it anymore, he just wanted it all to end._

_But he couldn't. Instead he stumbled back, falling to his knees on the roof and letting out an agonized scream, gun dropping from his fingers. He curled over, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle as if that could stop him from falling apart, his forehead pressed to the rough roof. He flinched when Harry touched him._

_"Lucas, let me help you," Harry said, and Lucas couldn't stand the kindness in his voice, didn't deserve it._

_"That's not my name," he moaned piteously, gasping for breath around the sobs clamoring to get out but unable to._

_"Well, what is your name, then? Is it John Bateman? Or is it something else?"_

_"I don't know," he whispered, shivering with the truth of it. Who was he anymore?_

_Harry placed his hands on his shaking shoulders, but he couldn't move, couldn't look up, couldn't get up._

_"Let me help you figure it out."_

~

He spends a year in rehab and therapy, figuring out who he is and who he wants to be. When he figures that out, Harry has everything else destroyed, covering it all up so it's as if he's never had any identity crisis.

Now John Bateman no longer exists. Not the one who had his face.

Going by Lucas feels right after having the name for fifteen years. He likes what he's done under this name, feels pride at what he's accomplished, up until the previous year when Vaughn came back into his life and ruined him.

Even though he knew it was coming, he's still surprised when Harry presses his badge into his hands. "Welcome back, Lucas," Harry says, still stressing the name, as if he still needs to convince Lucas of who he is.

But he knows. He knows.

He manages to muster up a smile and a quiet, "Thanks," and then Harry leaves him to stand there awkwardly, for the first time at a loss in the Grid. He doesn't know where he fits anymore, but it's certainly at the bottom. Again.

They didn't give him a gun. He's desk-bound until the higher ups deem him trust worthy enough to let out into the field. He suspects some of it is him having to get back into Harry's good graces.

He clenches his hand around his badge and leaves to get coffee.

~

He develops a routine. Get up, give himself a quick scrub with a bar of soap and cloth (because he can't even look at the shower without shuddering), scrounge up something to eat for breakfast (or buy it, if he doesn't have anything - write a note for shopping, completely forget to go shopping, repeat), go to therapy, get a coffee and something to eat at the café round the corner for lunch, go in to work.

He usually gets dumped with all the paperwork, but sometimes he gets to sift through surveillance videos, which is more entertaining than paperwork, but still mostly dull. He'll usually order takeout from somewhere nearby, and end up staying late before trudging home.

Every now and then, he thinks about leaving his badge and walking out, away, without looking back, but even doing all the paperwork is preferable to doing nothing. To being stuck up inside his own head with nothing to distract him.

~

After a few weeks, the baristas at the café know his name, his drink, and his pastry of choice. They call him adventurous when he gets something different - a sandwich, a fancier coffee than black. He smiles with them, but feels like he's dying on the inside. He hasn't been adventurous in a long time.

There's a woman who's always in when he is. He started noticing her more after five days, and then it was like he'd developed radar tuned especially to her. He never says anything to her, though he wants to.

More than anything, he wants to, but he remembers the past and has to look away from her sparkling eyes and easy smile, avoid looking at her until he can get his coffee and food and leave.

After a month and a half, where he tries not to notice her but always does, she approaches him.

The lunch rush is unusually large, today, and he sighs tiredly when he gets in line. Immediately, his radar pings and he glances at the woman in the corner. Their eyes meet and she smiles, and he has to swallow hard in a suddenly dry throat before he can attempt a smile back.

Hers widens and she slips from her seat, heading in his direction. He starts to panic.

It's tempting to leave, loathe though he is to put a look of disappointment on her sweet face, but his stomach rumbles painfully. Sandwich it is today. Maybe two.

"Hi."

God, her voice is heavenly. He turns partly towards her, heart thumping nervously. "Hello," he says, thankful his voice doesn't break.

Her eyebrows rise up her forehead. "You look terrified! Is that because of me?"

"Yes," he blurts, and then he frowns down at his shoes, cheeks heating with embarrassment.

She shifts away a bit, probably thinking that a bit of distance will help. Of course it doesn't. "I didn't think I was that intimidating," she says quietly.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "No, it's... I don't get approached," his eyes shift away from her, "ever."

"Never?" She sounds incredulous, and while that probably means she finds him attractive, it only makes him feel worse.

He's on the scrawny side these days, too thin from not eating enough (his stomach rumbles again), too pale from lack of sleep and not enough sun light. He doesn't know what she could possibly see in him.

Instead of saying any of that (he doesn't want to frighten her off, even though he should so he doesn't end up hurting her later), he lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I frown too much?" He doesn't mean to make it a question.

She tilts her head, looking over his face. He wonders what it is she sees. "You managed to smile at me," she says, her lips lifting in that easy smile.

His own twitch up in response, and he ignores the impulse to smother it. It's been too long since he had a reason to smile. So he lets it grow, and glances at her shyly, suddenly glad this line is moving at a glacier's pace.

"So what brings you so often to this tiny café?" He asks, because she's still standing next to him, like she wants to be around, and he might be starving for attention a bit.

She shrugs, fitting her hands loosely into the back pockets of her jeans. "It's close to work. I like the coffee, it has a good atmosphere. I like to people watch, and what better place than a tiny café with frequent business?"

"All good reasons to frequent a place." He's starting to feel awkward. He doesn't know what to talk about.

"And what brings you around so often?"

He automatically says, "It's between therapy and work," and then feels incredibly stupid. The smile disappears from her face, and he wishes the ground would open up, a bomb would go off, a masked gunman would burst in demanding all the money, because any of those would be better than this moment.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her reach out for his elbow, but she stops, fingers curling back towards her palm. He didn't think such an innocuous sentence could ruin things so spectacularly.

"Sorry," she suddenly says.

He looks at her in surprise. "Why?"

"For making things awkward? There's nothing wrong with you being in therapy, but you're clearly uncomfortable divulging that information, so... Sorry." She lifts her shoulders helplessly and gives him a wincing, apologetic smile, and how is she so free with her smiles?

"You don't have to be sorry for that. It was an innocent question." He tries on another smile, one to put her at ease, and is surprised when it works and she relaxes.

They're silent for a moment. The line moves, barely. For all that he hadn't wanted to be in this situation at first, he's glad he is, if still a little uncomfortable and awkward.

"I was wondering..." She trails off, and when he looks at her, she's nibbling on her lower lip, gaze distant as she thinks. Her eyes clear and she looks up at him with a determined expression. "I was wondering if you wanted to have coffee some time."

He blinks at her, looks at the line he's standing in - to get coffee - then looks at her again. She realizes what she said and blushes, and he can only stare transfixed at the way the red spreads across her cheeks.

"I meant, at some point. With me! I meant do you want to get coffee with me some time. Oh, this is mortifying." She covers her face with her hands, turning a darker shade of red.

He hesitates, and then reaches out, gently grasping her hands and lowering them. "Are you asking me on a date?" He checks, just to be sure.

"Yes? Yes. I am asking you on a date." Her voice gains a bit of confidence with her last words, and that determined look is back.

His heart thumps at the confirmation. He's nervous, and elated, and afraid, all at once, all because this beautiful woman is giving him her unguarded attention and asking him out. He swallows hard, panicking anew.

He shouldn't say yes, even though he wants to. He can't give her all of himself, he doesn't want to lie to her, he doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't want to get her killed.

"Obviously, your answer is a no. May I have my hands back please?" Her smile has dimmed and no longer reaches her eyes, which have shuttered with the perceived rejection.

He opens his mouth to say something, apologize, tell her he's not ready for a relationship, tell her he's messed up and unstable, but what comes out is, "Yes, but can it be dinner instead?"

She blinks at him, hands twitching in his grip. Her head tilts to the side and she narrows her eyes. "Just to be clear, you are accepting my offer of a date, but requesting we go out for dinner instead of coffee?"

He squeezes her hands before slowly letting go. "You can have a coffee, too, if you want."

She grins brightly at him, wide and happy, and he is utterly lost.

~

"Do you like her, Lucas?"

He hates that, how everyone he works with or is forced to see keeps saying his name. They put too much emphasis on it, they never say it like it's natural, like it's something he's always had. He really doesn't think it's helping the recovery they're trying to put him through. All it does is remind him.

He doesn't say anything for a long while, too irritated about the name. He knows this is just another reason why he shouldn't go on anymore dates, why he shouldn't go back to the café. How can he begin a relationship with someone when he gave them a name that isn't really his?

_But it is. It is._

He takes a deep breath, pushing it all aside. "I like her a lot," he says, managing to not grit his teeth.

"Then what's the problem?"

He stares at the therapist incredulously. "Are you kidding me?" He stands suddenly, pacing agitatedly. "Are you really encouraging me to get into a relationship with someone I can't tell anything to?"

"Is that what really has you bothered? That you won't be able to talk to her?"

He growls in frustration and turns away. "I'll only end up hurting her, or getting her killed. I don't want to have to lie to her every day."

"Lucas, maybe -"

"God, stop! Just stop it, with the Lucas thing," he shouts rounding on the therapist angrily. "You all expect me to function like a normal human being, but you can't even treat me like one. It's always _Lucas_ , like I might have forgotten that in the past year! I know who I am, I know what my name is."

He rubs his mouth with a shaking hand and realizes he's shaking all over, and he can't handle being here another minute. "I'm just - I'm just Lucas," he says thickly, grabbing his jacket and turning to leave.

"We still have another -"

"I don't _care_ ," he bites out, sending a glare at the therapist. "Tell Harry whatever you want, but I'm done for the day."

He leaves without another word, ignoring the protests and then threats that follow him. The fresh air hardly helps, and he pauses on the sidewalk, debating. His flat is not an option right now, and he's hungry anyway. Resigned, he turns in the direction of the café, shoulders hunched.

When he gets there, he stops again. He doesn't know how soon before him she gets here, and he can't tell if he wants her to be here or not. He's frozen to the spot, and only the rumbling of his empty stomach makes him open the door and step inside.

He resists looking to her corner to see if she's here. One look at the fairly short line, though, and he suddenly wants to leave. His stomach growls a protest as he turns back to the door, but a tentative touch to his arm makes him stop.

It's her, unsurprisingly. "Hey, you're here early," she says, smiling hesitantly.

He must look terrible, though that's also unsurprising. He didn't sleep last night. "I... Yeah. Left early."

"Come on, you look like you're about to keel over." She drags him to her corner, where there's an extremely comfortable looking couch. He sits, and then leans back when he discovers that it's actually comfortable, too. "Wait here."

She scurries off to the counter and he watches her tiredly. He seems to blink and she's back again, a large coffee in one hand, two sandwiches stacked in the other. He blinks in confusion when she holds both handfuls out to him.

"I um... I asked them what you usually get. Hope that's okay." She lifts a shoulder, still patiently waiting for him to take his drink and food, and he does so on automatic.

"Yeah, it's fine," he says quietly, setting the coffee on the little table next to him for now while he unwraps a sandwich.

"Rough session?" She asks, making him tense. "You don't have to tell me anything, it's just... You look really beaten down today."

He looks at her curiously. "Do I normally look different?"

She shrugs, pulling her feet up underneath her, her knees brushing his thigh. "You look like anyone tired with the world's bullshit, but today... Plus, you look like you didn't sleep at all last night."

"I didn't." He picks at the sandwich, no longer certain he wants to eat. "Yes, it was a rough session, as you put it."

"Topic of discussion, or dick therapist?"

That startles a laugh out of him, and he glances at her. She has that bright, happy grin on her face, and he ducks his head, shy in the face of it. "Both, I guess, but mostly the second."

She hums in acknowledgement. "Do you have to be at work at the usual time?"

He wonders why she's asking, but he checks his phone for any messages. None. "I'm not going in today."

"Ooh, skipping class, you wild thing!"

He chuckles, looking down. She leans into him a little, and he looks back up, eyebrows lifted in question.

"Let me make a quick phone call." He nods and she takes out her phone, dialing quickly. "Hey, I can't make it in, family emergency. Yeah. Thanks." And she hangs up.

He stares. "You're skipping with me?"

"Why not? All the cool kids are doing it." She grins at him, her eyes all lit up, and he grins back and finally starts to eat.

~

"You're early again." She sounds surprised, but pleased, and shifts her purse so he can set his coffee down before sitting next to her.

"Yeah, they're looking for a different therapist for me so I have a couple days' freedom from conversation hell." He unwraps his sandwich immediately and bites into it.

She looks him over admiringly, causing his cheeks to heat. She smiles. "You're looking better than yesterday."

He nods. "Got a bit of sleep this time."

A concerned look settles on her face. "Do you normally have trouble sleeping?"

Swallowing his mouthful with some difficulty, he looks at his sandwich awkwardly. "Yeah. Either I can't sleep, or I... Um. I have bad dreams." He shoves his sandwich in his mouth for another bite so he won't say anything else.

She watches him eat, a tiny furrow to her brow, and he grows uncomfortable enough that he opens his mouth to say something, but she beats him to it. "Do you want to have dinner again?"

He nods emphatically. "I would really like that," he says, his insides going warm when she smiles. "I could try to leave work earlier this time," because the other day, it had been late, but she'd still agreed to a late dinner.

"They won't miss you?" It's refreshing, how genuinely concerned she is for him and his job and his well-being.

"Nah," he lifts a shoulder, daring to wink at her and rewarded when she giggles. "The paperwork'll keep another night."

~

"Do you... Do you want to come up?"

They're standing in front of her building, and she's leaning close to him, looking at him hopefully. He hates that he has to let her down - he isn't ready yet.

"I would really really like to," he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses over her knuckles. "But I can't right now."

There it is, the look of disappointment, and his heart twists painfully. He's going to put that look on her face a lot, and he can't stand it. He kisses her hand again, and then hesitantly leans in to kiss her cheek, gently cupping her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"It's okay," she says, and when he pulls back, he's surprised to see that she means it. "Some other time?"

"Definitely," he says fervently, and she smiles brightly. He wants to kiss that smile, but doesn't.

That night, he sleeps the whole night and wakes up rested, and if he dreamed, he doesn't remember it.

~

They're dating for a month before he finally kisses her on the mouth. They're in the coffee shop, as usual, and he says something to put that bright, happy smile on her face, and he can't help himself.

He lifts her chin with two fingers and leans in, pressing his mouth softly to hers. She inhales sharply, going still against him, and he thinks maybe he should have asked first.

But as he starts to pull away, she curls her hand around the back of his neck and keeps him close, kissing him back. His heart jumps with elation and he forgets where they are, sliding his hands up to cup her cheeks and flicking his tongue out to taste her lips.

She pulls back before he can do more than barely touch her, her lips wet and cheeks flushed. He wants to see this look on her face more often.

"You wanna come over tonight?" She whispers, staring at his mouth.

He licks his lips, and her breath hitches. He thinks he's probably ready to take this further. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

She grins, expression full of mischief, and he kisses her again, keeping himself more controlled.

~

When he first gets to her building, he has a few terrifying moments of self-doubt and indecision. Is he doing the right thing, taking this relationship further? The new therapist has been encouraging it, telling him that he’s been doing better, seeming more at ease lately. He’s not sure if it’s enough to warrant putting someone through the betrayal of being lied to.

When he brought that up, the therapist suggested that he come clean about it all, and he’d laughed. She was hardly going to stick around after being told all of his issues. But being with her is an addiction, and he wants to be selfish about this one thing.

His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to see a text from her.

_Running late?_

He checks the time, and then curses. He’d taken his time getting here, and then stood waffling for so long that it’s forty-five minutes past when he said he’d be here. Heaving a sigh, he pushes the little round button next to her name and waits.

_”Lucas?”_

He has to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat before he can speak. He’s never liked his name more than when she says it. “Yeah. Sorry I’m late.”

 _”It’s okay. Come on up.”_ The door buzzes.

He stares at it, feeling as though if he steps through, there won’t be any going back. He has to dive for the handle and yank the door open just before it locks again. A heavy breath leaves him.

At her door, he hesitates briefly before knocking.

“Come in!” She calls, and then he hears a crash, breaking glass, and her muffled cursing.

He feels embarrassed about how fast he’s through the door and in her kitchen when he’s standing there, wide-eyed, as she scowls fiercely at the broken dish in her sink. A quick once over doesn’t reveal any visible injuries.

She turns to him and colors slightly, but continues to scowl. “I was cooking something, but the stove decided to break after burning everything, and then I dropped dessert.”

“Not hurt, though?” He comes close enough to set his hands on her shoulders, smoothing down her arms and back up.

“No? Did you think I had been?” When he flushes and looks away, she smiles. “That’s actually really sweet.”

“I heard the glass break and got worried –“ She stops him with a kiss, and he hums into it, cupping her cheeks and holding her close.

“We could order take away,” he says when they part, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“I’m… I’m strangely not hungry for food right now,” she murmurs, licking her lips before biting the bottom one, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

He stares at her, mouth hanging open, and then he swallows. “What are you hungry for instead?”

“Well,” she draws out, leaning up until their lips brush with every word. “Your kisses, to start.”

He backs her into the counter and lifts her up, crowding between her thighs and bracing his hands to either side of her hips. He gives her a soft, brief kiss. “What else are you craving?”

“Hmm, I think I might like your hands on various parts of my body. Maybe even my whole body.” She drapes her arms over his shoulders and sifts her fingers through his hair, pulling herself in for another kiss.

He grins against her mouth, licking at her lower lip to hear her hum. “And is that enough to sate you, or would you crave even more?”

"Probably more, but maybe we should start with those and see what happens." When he licks her again, she gently catches his tongue between her teeth and draws him into her mouth.

He goes willingly, tasting her, sliding his tongue along hers. She scoots to the edge of the counter, her legs tightening around his waist.

"I think we should move this to a bed," she breathes, biting his lower lip and sucking on it.

He moans, surging against her. He rubs himself between her thighs, savoring her gasp and growling when she pulls at his hair. Carefully, making sure he has a firm hold of her, he steps back from the counter. Her arms slide around his neck.

"Second door on the left down the hall," she pants, and clearly wants to kiss him again, but manages to restrain herself so he can mostly see where he's going.

Instead, she watches him, like his face is fascinating as he tries to look right back at her but also look where he's going while not dropping her. He would feel uncomfortable about her unwavering gaze, but whenever their eyes meet, hers are hot, her pupils dilated, and she keeps pulling her lip between her teeth.

He's proud that he doesn't knock into any walls before he eases her down onto her bed.

She clings to him as he pulls away, a soft whine leaving her throat. He grins and leans back in, kissing her throat. "I'm not going far."

Her hands reluctantly let him go, and he steps away from the bed to remove shoes and socks. He hesitates before pulling his shirt off. She hasn't seen even a hint of his tattoos, has no idea he has them. He looks at her uncertainly for a moment, and then tugs off the shirt.

He doesn't know what he expected, but the look of awe on her face isn't it. He doesn't know how to feel about it.

"Come here," she murmurs, sitting up and reaching for him, and he goes.

He stops at the edge of the bed, between her knees. She tentatively touches her fingertips to the Ancient of Days on his chest and traces its lines.

His misgivings must show on his face because she pauses and says, "Topic closed?" All he can do is nod, relieved when she only smiles.

"Can I touch them, though?" Her fingers resume their tracing, trailing down to the Latin below his belly button.

His muscles twitch at her exploration. "Yeah, touching's good." He groans when she fits her fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers, her touch teasing. "Touching's really good."

She grins and gathers her knees beneath her, sliding her hands up his torso. Pressing kisses across his cheek, she nuzzles into the hair just in front of his ear. "Wanna undress me?"

Immediately, his hands are at her waist, pulling her shirt up. When it clears her hands, he lightly catches her wrists and slides his hands down her arms, around to her back, fingers spread wide over her shoulder blades. He follows the line of her bra, feeling for where the hooks are and undoing them.

She looks at him shyly as the straps fall down her arms, so he kisses her, tugging her bra free and licking into her mouth. Her breath catches when he cups her breasts, thumbs sweeping over her nipples. She presses into him, a small moan leaving her.

Trailing kisses down her neck to her collar bone, he toys with her a bit, pinching her nipples and then dragging his fingertips over them, brushing in between her breasts and trailing the backs of his fingers along her curves.

She clutches at him, fingers digging into his back. "Lucas," she breathes, breath hitching again.

He shivers at the sound of his name. It has never sounded so good, the breathless delivery of it, the way it rolls right off her tongue and falls from her lips. It makes his knees wobble and he has to sit.

He pulls her around with him so she stands between his knees and he leans his forehead against her stomach, trying to control his reaction so she doesn't get alarmed. Her hands settle on the back of his neck, fingers swirling through his hair.

"Lucas?"

He nuzzles her skin, pressing kisses to her stomach, before he lifts his head and looks up at her. She's watching him in concern, and he closes his eyes when she strokes her fingers over his forehead.

"Is everything alright?" She asks, brushing her knuckles down his nose and back up.

"Yeah." He takes her hand and kisses her palm, reveling in the way her fingers curl against his cheek and jaw. "Yeah, everything's fine."

"Okay," she says quietly, and gives him time to gather himself.

Briefly, he wonders when her patience with him will run out, but he quickly shoves the thought aside. He takes a moment, rubbing his cheek against her hand, and when he feels settled again he grasps her hips.

"I haven't ruined the mood completely, have I?" He presses a kiss just above her belly button, peering up at her.

"Not entirely, no. Keep that up and we can be back on track." She grins down at him, burying her hands in his hair and pulling.

His eyes fall half-closed at the zing of pleasure that goes through him. She tugs again, her gaze curious and contemplative, and he nips at her belly, pulling skin into his mouth and sucking a mark there.

She giggles around a moan, her hips wiggling in his hands. He licks and sucks a slow path down her stomach as he pops the button on her jeans and slides the zipper down. Her hands clench in his hair as he slides his hands inside, pushing the denim down her legs and sweeping back up.

She tugs at his hair to get his attention. When he looks up, she bends down to fit her mouth to his, kissing him sweetly until he's humming into her. She pulls back just enough for air. "I believe the mood has been restored."

He chuckles and kisses her again, plucking at her knickers. She nudges his hands down, her knickers going with them, so he pulls them down, and then she's standing naked before him and he can't take his eyes off her.

He takes a few moments to just look at her, his eyes raking over her body. She starts fidgeting, shifting her weight side to side. When he looks up, she's blushing, the red spreading down her neck to her chest.

Pulling her down to straddle him, he kisses up that blush, nuzzling into her neck. "You are beautiful," he murmurs, taking her with him as he lies back.

Her blush deepens. "Flattery will get you anywhere."

"Anywhere, hm?" He runs his hands down to curve over her ass, his long fingers reaching just far enough to tease her cunt.

"Oh, yes, flattery will certainly get you there," she gasps, wiggling for more contact.

He obligingly touches her more firmly, stroking through her growing wetness. She whimpers when he moves his hand away, but he only moves it between them, circling her clit with his slicked fingers. She grunts and jerks against him, grinding into the pressure and making him moan with want.

All he wants to do in that moment is flip her over, sink into her and pound away until she's the only thing on his mind, the clench of her around him, the arch of her body. But he takes it slow, because more than anything else, he wants her to enjoy it, and want more. Him mindlessly going at it won't achieve that.

Her hips stutter when he presses two fingers against her, testing her readiness. She's the one to push him in, grinding down on his hand and groaning as his fingers slide in. She clenches and his cock twitches.

He moves his other hand to her hair as he starts thrusting his fingers, pulling her down to kiss. She mewls into his mouth, her hips working against him.

Already, her sounds are driving him mad. He can't get enough of them. He wants to know everything that makes her gasp, and moan, and keen so sweetly.

He licks up to her ear, nipping at the lobe, and then he speaks, his voice a low growl. "You feel so good, darling, all wet and clenching around my fingers." She moans, spurring him on. "Will you feel this good around my cock? Your whole body clutching me as I slowly fuck you senseless."

She presses her open mouth to his jaw, her breathless whimpers somewhat muffled. He speeds his fingers, rubbing his thumb over her clit. "Oh," she gasps, bucking in his hold.

He pulls her hair taught, shivering at her mewl. "Or do you want it hard? Do you want me pounding you into the mattress so hard you feel me for days? Do you want me to leave marks all over you, suck bruises into your skin, _claim_ you as mine?"

She lets out a strangled cry, her thighs shaking on either side of his wrist, and her cunt squeezes his fingers tight as she comes. He hums his pleasure into her cheek, stroking her through it, easing her down as she pants against his neck.

He pulls out of her to a small sound of protest, making him grin. She stretches against him, shifting so she's pressed up against his side, with her leg over his, her knee nudging up against his hard cock.

"I would never have thought you'd be a possessive dirty talker," she murmurs, cheek resting on his collar bone as she returns to tracing his tattoos.

He stiffens. The dirty talk had been unexpected - it wasn't something he'd really done before - but she'd seemed to enjoy it. "If it's not something you -"

Her fingers press against his mouth. She pushes herself up enough to look at him, leaning in to exchange fingers for lips in a soft kiss. "I haven't come that hard in a while. I just wasn't expecting it."

He relaxes, gradually, and loops his arm around her, angling for another kiss. "I'll admit to being possessive, but I haven't much practice with the talking."

She hums into another kiss, her hand sliding down to his stomach. "You certainly aren't lacking in skill, at least." She walks her fingers along his waistband. "Wanna follow through on that dirty talk, handsome?"

He chuckles as he shifts into her touch, watching her lazily undo button and zip. "Which option are you looking for?" He sucks in a breath when she palms his length, straining against his pants.

"Mm, I thought we could start out slow, for a while," she purrs, slowly tugging his pants down far enough to free his cock, and then she takes him in hand, stroking to the tip and twisting back down. "And then whenever you feel like it..."

She tightens her grip and pumps him quickly a few times, and he's helpless to stop the thrust of his hips to meet her. Mouthing along his jaw, she scrapes her teeth against him before biting down, and then she soothes her tongue over the spot, rasping against his stubble. His cock throbs in her hand.

"And I certainly won't say no to your mouth on my body," she says in his ear.

He shudders hard and reaches for her, pulling her flush against him. "I think I can arrange all of that," he murmurs low and rough, savoring her answering shiver.

She strokes him once, twice, and then lets go, trailing her fingers up his length and over the head. He watches transfixed as she brings her fingers to her mouth and teasingly licks the tips.

Her lips curve into a slow smile. "Come on, big guy."

Cock twitching at the sultry tone of her voice, he quickly shucks trousers and pants and crawls after her as she moves away, further up the bed. There's a brief pause as she rustles through the night stand, and he leans forward to kiss her hip. She wiggles, and he does it again, trailing his lips around to the small of her back, his hands settling lightly on her hips.

With a soft hum, she peers over her shoulder at him, wiggling her eyebrows and a condom held between her teeth. He muffles a laugh into her skin and plucks the condom from her mouth.

She grins and rolls to her back, settling against the pillows, legs parting invitingly. He crawls over her, dipping down to give her a lingering kiss before sitting back on his heels and tearing open the foil packet. He can feel her eyes on him while he rolls the condom down his cock, and when he looks up, her gaze is heavy-lidded and she's slowly stroking up and down her stomach.

He swallows hard and bends down, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand and then her stomach. As he trails kisses up her body, she slides her hand into his hair, stroking the strands and tugging lightly whenever his lips touch a sensitive spot.

"Hello, beautiful," he murmurs against her throat, smiling at her soft laugh.

"Hi, handsome," she says, tugging him up to press her grinning mouth to his.

Something in him thrills at the exchange. He can have this, this fragile thing untouched by his past, untainted by it. This can just be his - she can be his.

When he pushes into her, they both let out a sigh. He keeps the pace slow, nuzzling her skin, brushing his mouth lightly over her, kissing her soft and languid. She arches into his touch, his mouth, his hips, his hands stroking down her sides and thighs.

She wanted his marks on her body, so he sucks bruises over her collar bones, nips at her roughly to hear the sounds she makes. Something primal in him almost wants to restrain her, press her wrists into the pillows, _not let her touch,_ but he likes how she tugs at his hair, how her hands feel against his skin.

This is him she's touching, not a mask, not a target. It's just him, and her, and he shudders with it. Lets her touch him, and he's so overwhelmed with it that his pace gets a little faster, a little rougher without him really noticing, until she's crying out with every thrust and gripping his arms tightly.

Tight enough that she may leave bruises of her own, and the thought sends his hips snapping against hers.

"Ah, Lucas!" She shouts, catching him off guard with the use of the name. His name.

His hips stutter to a halt and he stares down at her in wonder. She mewls a protest, gripping him harder and rolling her hips against his.

"Say that again," he breathes, his heart thundering in his chest.

"Say wha - _Lucas,_ " she moans as he gives her an encouraging slow thrust.

" _God_ yes, keep saying it, keep saying my name," he groans in answer, and she does.

He starts thrusting again and she shouts his name, moans it, gasps it out, a constant litany of _Lucas, Lucas, Lucas!_ to match the rough collide of their hips. He has a brief thought that it might be too hard for her, but she clutches him tightly and clenches around him and meets him thrust for thrust.

She _screams_ his name when she comes, her fingers clawing down his back. The sting of it sends him over the edge. He bites her shoulder to muffle his deep groan, shuddering through it as she clutches him close.

It takes him longer than usual to come down, his heart thumping with the memory of how she called his name. He braces himself on his elbows and tucks his face into her neck, breathing her in. She shifts to accommodate him, sliding her hands down his sides and back up.

Her touch is soothing, and he's soon breathing calm and nuzzling her jaw, his fingers carding through her hair. She gives a pleased hum and moves her hands to his hair.

"You certainly know how to deliver," she says cheekily, startling a laugh out of him.

He pushes up to look at her, heart clenching at her affectionate expression. He's well on the way to falling in love with her, he can already tell. He presses a gentle kiss to her mouth. "It was an easy order to fill."

She grins and kisses him again. "Is this going to be a bit like on line shopping? Can I add things to my cart?"

He chuckles into another kiss. "What kind of things are we adding?"

"Oh, I dunno, things like," she shifts to brush her mouth over his ear, making him shiver, "maybe next time I can be on my hands and knees."

"Mm, you can definitely add that to the cart," he says, and then he's struck again by the silliness of the conversation and he snickers against her cheek.

She giggles with him, the both of them snorting into each other's cheeks and kissing through their laughter. They've only just started calming down, mouths brushing and hands languidly stroking skin, when someone's stomach growls.

They're pressed so tightly together that Lucas can't even tell who's it was, but it sets them off again. He buries his face in her hair and tries to breathe, but it's hard when she's shaking with laughter against him.

His heart swells with the moment and he knows he's definitely in love.

~

It's inevitable that it would come crashing down on him.

They've been together two months when he ends up having to stay late at work. Not only that, but late stretches into days, and there's a security breach with communications so he can't even call to cancel plans, or say something came up at work, or even that he's sorry, that he'll see her as soon as he can but he doesn't know when that will be.

And how long will she take that excuse, anyway? How long before she starts asking questions, or accusing him of cheating, or -

"Lucas?"

"Yeah," he says immediately, and then blinks Harry into focus.

"Do you have that surveillance?"

"Yes." He pops out the disc he'd been copying everything onto and hands it over to Harry.

"Good work." Harry smiles, clasping Lucas' shoulder briefly. "Keep it up."

Lucas smiles back automatically, but the hard-won and desperately sought-after approval feels hollow now. _I had plans,_ he thinks, staring at his computer screen.

~

He stares at the buzzer for fifteen minutes, chewing on his thumbnail and wondering if he should even press the button. He's surprised no one has gone in or come out since he's been here.

Should he even bother trying to explain? A part of him whispers _yes_ fervently. Then should he tell her the truth, or skirt around it?

Truth, he decides. It should definitely be the truth.

Still, he hesitates before finally pressing the button. She might not even want to see him. Maybe she doesn't want an explanation at all, maybe -

_"Hello?"_

His mouth goes dry. "H-hey. It's Lucas. I just... I wanted... Do you think we... Can I at least explain things?"

He bites his lip and winces at that mangled plea. Hardly convincing enough to buzz him in. A sentiment she apparently agrees with, because she doesn't answer. At all. Not through the intercom, and the door doesn't buzz open.

He nods to himself, ignoring the feeling in his chest that is suspiciously like the very life being squeezed from him, and turns to go. It's for the best, he reasons, though a part of him wails in agony. It's not much different from what he's been through before. He can do this; he can walk away.

Except it's completely different, and he thought maybe this was something he could have, this tiny fledgling thing that he doesn't think he's ever truly experienced before, not as Lucas North, and not as John Bateman.

He sucks in a breath and holds it, letting it out slowly as he shoves his hands into his pockets. Breathing exercises, the therapist had told him. Try breathing exercises if you feel like you're on the verge of a breakdown.

Strangely it doesn't work.

A small laugh leaves him, sounding suspiciously wet, and when he clears his throat, there's an odd sound that accompanies it. He thinks for the briefest of moments that it's something he should be concerned over, until he realizes.

 _It's the door._ The door is buzzing, and no one else is around so it _must_ be for him. He trips up the steps he doesn't remember walking down and yanks the door open, breathing a sigh of relief when the buzzing continues for a second before going silent.

He takes the stairs two at a time, but then pauses in front of her door. What if she'd waited so long to unlock the door because she figured he'd been long gone by then? He shakes his head.

He's here now, and he should go through with this, no matter the outcome. He knocks.

"Come in," he hears faintly, so at least she had some idea that he'd still be around for the buzzer.

Feeling as though he's going to his doom, he turns the knob and pushes the door open, hesitantly stepping through and peering around. He spots her on the couch and shuffles over.

"Hi," he starts lamely.

When she looks up, his heart clenches painfully. Her eyes are red-rimmed, skin blotchy and still looking a little wet.

"Oh," he breathes, and then he's stumbling over to her, falling onto the couch and burying his face in her stomach. She stiffens against him, and he hopes it's just shock, because he doesn't think he can let go just yet.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, muffled, but that's hardly adequate. She probably can't hear him. He shifts away only far enough that his mouth isn't covered, leaving his forehead touching her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. There was... Issues occurred, complications..." _The mission, there was a mission, I work for MI5, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, this is my life,_ but he can't, he can't tell her. Not yet.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tells her what he can. "There was a huge security breach and I couldn't get away, there was a problem with all communications or I would have called, I would have, _I'm so sorry._ "

She's silent for a long time, but she's touching him now, running her fingers through his hair. He's too keyed up to be soothed by it. He only realizes he's shaking when she says something.

"Lucas, you're shaking like a leaf." He thinks she might sound concerned, and hopes it isn't wishful thinking.

"I'm..." He tries to calm his body down, but he only shakes harder, and no. No, this can't be happening now, not a breakdown now.

"Hey," she says softly, and that's definitely concern. "Can you look at me?"

He doesn't want to, but he does, and his body seems to decide on its own, turning so he's on his back and looking up at her. He reluctantly meets her eyes, knowing his are filled with fear and heartache and a myriad of other emotions he can't place.

Her brow wrinkles further, and she reaches to smooth her fingers over his eyebrows. It's oddly calming. He slowly relaxes against her, the shakes gradually dissipating.

She slides her fingers up to sift through his hair. "You couldn't call at all, not even text?"

His heart rate picks up again and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. She strokes his eyebrow again, and he thinks it's calming because it's so strange and different. Nobody thinks to touch someone's _eyebrows_ to calm them down.

Instead of speaking, he shakes his head. After a moment, he manages to mumble, "Too risky."

"Will this happen again?" She continues her light petting. It almost makes him feel drowsy.

He swallows before answering. "Yes. Sometimes frequently, sometimes far apart. It's unpredictable."

"What kind of security company do you work for?" She sounds baffled, and it makes him laugh. Everything, her question, that he told her as close to the truth as he could, even in the beginning, that she can calm him with a touch.

He stops when it starts to sound like sobbing, covering his face with his hand. Her lips press to his knuckles, startling but not unwelcome. He blows out a breath, lightly rubbing a finger against her mouth.

She kisses his hand again, and then takes hold of it, tugging it from his face. "Hey," she says in greeting, pulling a smile from him.

"Hey," he replies, and pushes himself up enough to kiss her lightly, briefly, before pushing up all the way and turning.

He leans his forehead against her temple. "One of the guys is working on something... I can't go into detail, but it might enable me to notify you if this happens again. Okay?"

She nods, leaning into him. He can't even describe how relieved that makes him. "Okay."

~

The next day, he tosses a handful of papers on Harry's desk, the top with a sticky note attached. It has her name on it, and the papers are for next of kin.

Harry blinks at him.

"I've been dating her for two months," Lucas says, not sure why he feels so nervous about it. "If you could file those once you've vetted her, it'd be much appreciated."

Harry takes a long moment to respond, watching him critically. Lucas lifts his chin and stares Harry in the eye.

"I'll see that it gets done," Harry says with a nod.

"Great," Lucas manages, trying his best not to deflate in relief. "Thanks."

He leaves before he can make a fool of himself.

~

A file smacks down on his desk. Lucas looks over, seeing his sticky note with his girlfriend's name on it. The next of kin papers aren't under it. He looks up. Ruth lifts an eyebrow at him, but doesn't smile. She hasn't smiled at him since he got back. Not that he blames her.

"She's not squeaky clean, which is good because that would be suspicious. But she's certainly not someone to be concerned about. She isn't on anybody's radar, especially not the ones you're on."

He hadn't realized that had been a concern of his until his shoulders relaxed. "Good," he says. "Good."

Ruth starts to leave, but turns back to him. "Lucas, does she know?"

"She knows I work some kind of security, and that I've been behind a desk." He shrugs a little. "But I... Eventually. I'll tell her eventually."

"You should tell her. Sooner, rather than later. It's better if she knows." There's a world of past hurt in Ruth's eyes, and Lucas swallows hard.

"I will. I just don't know how yet."

"Sometimes, just saying it is the best how." And she smiles at him.

~

Unfortunately, _just saying it_ is the hardest thing he's ever had to do. Every time he tries to tell her, his throat starts to close up and he loses the words. He wants to ask Ruth for help, but he's not entirely sure she would give it, and his pride wants him to do it on his own.

It doesn't help that "security breaches" start to pick up more, although he'd convinced Tariq to alter his fancy code specifically so just Lucas can send out a message if he needs to. Tariq had looked at him suspiciously for a long moment, until he'd grimaced and admitted it was so his girlfriend wouldn't worry as much.

He's sure Ruth must have talked to Tariq about it, because he'd suddenly looked understanding and bobbed his head. "Sure thing, Lucas."

He wants to ask Ruth about it, because it seems like everybody's aware that he's trying to balance a fairly new relationship with work. They're nicer to him, and he hates how much it makes him feel like a lost puppy.

But he's still unsure, so he fumbles along this path he's chosen, and it isn't perfect, and he doesn't know how many disappointed looks and sad sighs over cancelled plans he can take before everything either blows up in his face, or he breaks down and tells her everything.

At which point she'd probably leave him anyway.

It gets bad enough that he deliberately starts canceling dates and avoids her, because he somehow comes to the realization that he'd rather she leave because he's an asshole rather than because she can't handle knowing the truth.

That's when Ruth confronts him.

She corners him when he's getting more coffee from the crappy coffee maker they keep on the Grid. He jumps when she appears next him, spilling half the coffee all over his hand. He frowns at the mess, mumbling a half-hearted, "ow."

"You wouldn't happen to be avoiding a certain someone, would you?" Ruth asks immediately, unapologetic.

Lucas scowls and focuses on mopping up the spilled coffee. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh no? So you've just been overworking and practically living here because it's fun?"

He sighs and leans against the counter. "It's... It's better this way," he says quietly.

She leans closer to catch his eye, and he's surprised at how determined she looks. "For whom? Certainly not her; she knows you work security, yes, but what kind of security would keep you away so often? You're hurting her by staying away when you don't have to."

"Why are you so -"

Ruth talks right over him. "And it's damn well not better for you. You've been completely miserable for the past week."

"I don't understand..."

"Why I'm so concerned?" He nods. "Lucas, you've been the happiest I've ever seen you, being with this woman. If you won't tell her what you do, then at least spend time with her. You're both suffering."

He bites his lip and looks away.

"You should go now. Harry will understand." Her tone of voice suggests that Harry better had understand. Lucas wonders how exactly he managed to regain Ruth's loyalty.

"If I tell her... She'll leave."

"Do you really know that?" Ruth's gaze is unwavering.

"I still don't get why you're so adamant that I tell her." He almost crosses his arms, but there's still coffee on his hand. He grabs more napkins and wipes it off, his movements harsh.

"When was the last time you had something true with another person? Someone you didn't have to keep secrets from?"

That certainly hits the nail on the head. He looks away again, which is answer enough. Ruth touches his arm lightly, and he stares down at her hand.

"She makes you happy; you shouldn't waste that."

Looking at her again, Lucas remembers when she'd first come back, shaken up and angry. Her husband had known. He wondered how the man had taken it, when she'd told him. It clearly hadn't mattered.

Not that knowing had saved him, but he would have died anyway. Better to know why than be confused and scared about it all.

He backs away from the counter, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna... Go."

Ruth nods, and he feels her eyes on him up until he's out of sight.

~

Here he is again, standing on a stoop staring at a buzzer, debating on whether he should just walk away. But he remembers Ruth's words and reaches out, fingertip caressing the button before pressing it.

It takes a while to get an answer, so long that he grows increasingly anxious, until her groggy voice pipes out from the speaker.

_"Yes?"_

He checks his watch and curses at the time. He should have called first. "Hey I'm... I'm sorry it's so late. Can I come up?"

There's a long pause, and he starts to think she either doesn't want to see him, or she fell asleep, when she speaks again.

 _"Yeah."_ The buzzer sounds after a moment.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he tugs the door open.

~

She's standing in her doorway when he gets to her floor, and he falters at the sight of her in one of his shirts. He must have left it here one night, but he can't recall. She still looks sleepy, and her hair is mussed, and she's still the most beautiful being he's ever set eyes on.

He heads straight for her, not stopping until he's right in front of her. He reaches up and cups her cheeks, leaning in to kiss her for a long moment before resting their foreheads together.

She sighs, her arms wrapping around his waist. She leans away enough to look at him properly. "You're explaining in the morning. I just want to sleep next to you right now."

He swallows hard and nods, kissing her forehead before nudging her inside. She takes his hand after he locks the door, tugging him down the hall and into the bedroom.

She leaves him to undress and crawls onto the bed, squirming around until she's comfortable under the covers again. He smiles slightly to see it, and strips down to his pants before he joins her. She hums contently as he fits himself along her back, running his hand up under the shirt to rest it on her stomach.

It doesn't take him very long at all to find sleep.

~

He wakes the next morning to her wrapped around him. He lies there for a while, breathing her in and feeling comfortable, loathe to extricate himself. But he wants to do something for her, as a start of an apology, so he slowly, carefully pulls away, being sure not to wake her.

He waits a moment after getting up, watching her, and then picks up his shirt and pulls it on as he shuffles off to the kitchen.

Eggs, bacon, toast. He makes enough for both of them, and she doesn't come out at all so she must still be asleep. Or staying in bed to avoid him as long as possible.

Swallowing hard, he pushes the thought aside. The food goes onto a big plate, which goes on a tray with two cups of coffee.

When he nudges the bedroom door open, she's still curled up under the covers, but she lifts her head when he comes in. Her eyes light up when she sees the tray in his hands.

"Breakfast in bed?" She pushes herself up to sit against the headboard.

"Mmhm," he hums, placing the tray across her lap and moving the cups to the nightstand before carefully climbing over her legs to sit next to her.

"I hope we're sharing all of this," she says, eyeing the heaping plate and he laughs softly.

"I thought I could maybe feed your portion to you?" He doesn't mean for it to be a question, but he looks at her from the corner of his eye, his hand hovering over the fork.

She looks dubious, but nods, settling herself comfortably against his side and shifting the tray closer to him.

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he takes the fork and proceeds to feed her breakfast. She nibbles on a piece of toast when he takes bites for himself, and passes his coffee to him when she reaches for her own.

It's cozy, and intimate, and not something he's ever felt the need to do. It makes him realize just how much he's missed her during his self-imposed exile, and he hopes she missed him just as much. Her wanting to sleep in his arms the night before suggests so.

He feels guilty for putting them both through that. He's infinitely grateful now that Ruth decided for whatever reason to help him. If he lost this, the closeness, the only person he's ever felt he could be himself around while still hiding parts of who he is...

He doesn't know what he'd do if he didn't have this anymore.

With the tray cleared of food and the coffee cups mostly empty, she gathers it all and sets it aside before curling into him, her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.

"So work was really crazy again?" He can't tell her mood from her tone.

This is it. He could tell her now. She's given him an opportunity to lay it all out.

_Tell her._

He opens his mouth. "No, not really." Good. That's a good start. She stiffens against him, expected, and he hurries to continue. "I was... Afraid. That you'd eventually have enough of me having to be away for extended periods and leave me."

"So you stayed away on purpose for a week?" She sounds incredulous and a little angry, pushing up and away to look at him. Before he can respond, she scowls and punches his arm. It doesn't hurt, but it does surprise him. " _Don't_ make decisions like that for me."

He nods furiously, opening his mouth to say more, but she isn't finished.

"I'm a big girl; I can make my own decisions. If I feel something's not working between us, I will talk to you about it. Okay?" She stares him down, looking fierce and determined.

"Yes," he croaks, and then clears his throat. "Yes. Okay."

She accepts that and cuddles up to him again, this time slowly rubbing her hand over his chest. It's soothing, in the same way that her stroking his eyebrows is soothing, and he relaxes against her.

He means to tell her the rest, but can't quite manage it. Later. He'll tell her later.

~

Later stretches, from tomorrow, to the next day, to the next, to next week, next month, to eight months in and he's so so in love that he can barely stand to look her in the eyes some days for all the lies he's had to tell.

He's still working a desk, but he gets asked to do more, to do different things, to be a little more part of a cohesive unit again. And he likes it, that they're beginning to trust him again, trust him more.

But none of that can make up for the pain it causes him to call and say he can't come over, for the pain she doesn't know he keeps inflicting on her.

She still doesn't even know that he can't even take a bath or shower because of Russia, that sometimes even the rain makes it bad, and he doesn't know how he's managed to keep that from her.

The few times she's asked or offered to bathe together he's managed to cobble up some excuse to not do it, and even that hurts, how she deflates the tiniest bit but still smiles at him and says _'okay,'_ like it isn't a big deal.

Eight months and he doesn't think he can take it anymore, he's going to explode with all this pent up tension, or she'll come to her senses and realize he's not right for her.

 _Tell her._ His inner voice has started to sound suspiciously like Ruth lately.

He decides he'll tell her that night, barring anything major coming up _please please nothing major no terror cells to dismantle no bombs to diffuse just another boring day doing paperwork._

He's going to tell her, he keeps thinking, all through the rest of work, and waiting for her to come over, all through dinner and the cleanup and giggling as they fall into bed together.

 _Tell her, tell her, tell her,_ on constant repeat.

The clamor in his head gets to be too much as they're lying tangled up in one another, blissfully sated. And yet still he waits, puts it off, and then finally says something when it feels like she's almost asleep.

"Move in with me," is what comes out, and that... That was not what he'd wanted to say. And yet in a way it is, because he loves falling asleep next to her, and waking up next to her, and getting to watch her wake up because he's always the first one awake. He just shouldn't be asking her to move in if he can't even tell her what he's been trying to tell her for their whole relationship.

It still hurts, though, still makes his heart pound and clench with unease when she looks at him for a long moment and then asks for time to think about it. Of course she can think about it, of course she can, he doesn't know why he was expecting an immediate and resounding yes. He should be relieved. He isn't.

It takes him a very long time to fall asleep, long after she does.

~

The next morning he watches her sleep and knows this is something he always wants to have, her curled up warm and relaxed against him, every morning.

She shifts and makes a soft noise, and he knows he probably has the soppiest look on his face, and she'll see it soon as she opens her eyes but he doesn't care. He wants her to see how he feels waking up to her in his bed, his arms, his life.

Her eyes flicker open and she moves to look at him, offering a sleepy smile as she blinks muzzily at him. After a moment, she seems to focus hard on his face, and a slow smile spreads across his as she gazes at him with mild confusion, and a bit of wonder and affection.

His heart thumps with elation when she leans in to kiss him, breathing a soft, "yes," just before their lips touch.

~

Two weeks. Two blissful weeks of waking up every day to her messy hair and sleepy smiles. If he'd felt good before in the relationship, it's nothing compared seeing her things all over his flat, her slowly finding her own space there, and he finally has food in the fridge and cupboards all the time (she's always been appalled at the state of his empty kitchen, and had adamantly insisted they go shopping regularly).

It changes up his routine again, but he doesn't mind, easily fitting his schedule around hers and vice versa.

Part of that routine has been him finding time when she's not there to bathe, because he doesn't want her to know just how much he struggles still. He decides to just do it at work, because he doesn't have to explain it there. It's not the first time Harry's walked in on him having a quick wash.

Except then he goes home one day, tired from a longer stint on the Grid, and just sets up in the kitchen.

And then she comes home early when he's trying to do his hair, scares him half to death because he hadn't heard her come in, and then he realizes that this is it. The moment.

 _Tell her._ And he has to now, can't back down this time, and to be honest he's tired of always saying something else when he means to tell her the truth about him. So he gets dressed, and sits her down, and tells her _everything._

Russia and what they did to him, his tattoos, MI5, Elizabeta, Sarah, Maya. Vaughn. It all comes flooding out and he really can't stop it now, it's not enough, he's gone this far so he goes all the way. He tells her about John Bateman.

 _Please don't leave me,_ he begs silently.

"Do I even know who you really are?" She pulls away, gets up to pace.

He stands, but doesn't move toward her, his chest feeling like there are bands wrapped tightly around, and tightening further. "Of course you do!" He says it desperately, almost a shout.

But she shakes her head and her eyes are filling with tears. "But I don't! You just told me as much. You've been lying this whole time. How much of us was a lie? All of it?"

He rushes towards her, wanting to hold her, help her, soothe her with a touch like she does him, but she steps away and he stops abruptly. "None of it! I never lied about this, us. About how I feel for you."

"I need to leave." She's quiet now, and won't look at him. "I need some space and time to think."

She turns and heads towards the bedroom, and he doesn't stop her, doesn't say anything. He's still as a statue and just as silent for a while after she leaves.

_It's better this way._

~

"Lucas? Lucas!"

"What," he says automatically, blinking out of his stupor. How much time had passed since the last zone?

"Is everything alright?"

He looks up at Ruth's concerned face and takes a breath to tell her he's fine, everything's fine, but then he stops. Not only would she not believe him, but he's just so tired of lying.

"No. Everything's a mess." _I made a mess of it all._

That just makes her more concerned, and he doesn't protest when she gently grasps his arm and pulls him up, steering him towards the conference room. She makes him sit and goes to close the door. He puts his elbows on the table and buries his face in his hands.

"What happened?" Ruth sits down next to him and scoots her chair closer.

"I... I finally told her. I told her everything." He feels so empty. She hasn't really left him, but it feels like she has. He wasn't prepared for how broken he would feel.

"Oh." Ruth touches his arm lightly, he suspects in an effort to comfort him.

"She said she needed time and space, but..."

"Well then she hasn't left you." Ruth sounds falsely cheerful, and it makes him let out a humorless laugh.

"No, but that's what she'll do. I told her about John Bateman." He spits the name out like a curse, even though it's really Lucas North who's the cursed one.

"Why tell her that much?" She doesn't sound incredulous, only curious.

"It just came out," he whispers. "She caught me trying to wash my hair and I couldn't lie anymore, and after I told her everything else, it just... It came out."

His breath catches and he's not sure if he's going to pass out or start crying. His heart does a weird skip clench pound and his eyes start to prickle.

"Lucas..." She touches him again, running her hand down his arm.

He doesn't know why he does it. One second he's turned away from her, trying to hold himself together, and the next he spins to face her and his forehead thunks down onto her shoulder. He's tense for a long moment, until the first sob claws its way out of his throat, and then he can't stop. It feels like he's being wrung dry, and Ruth's shirt soon grows wet under his face, but he can't move, can't do anything other than cling to her and let it all out.

It feels like roughly his entire life of every pent up emotion is coming out of him. He thinks he hears the door open and close a few times, but no words are exchanged, and it doesn't seem like whoever it is stays.

He's exhausted by the time he's done. He has no idea how much time has passed, and he really doesn't care to. Ruth's hand is stroking through his hair, the other rubbing his back.

He sighs and mumbles, "Sorry," as he pulls away, reaching out and touching the wet spot on her shirt.

"It's fine," she says, and almost attempts a smile for him. "I think... I think it would be better if you take the week off."

Immediately he shakes his head. "No, I can't." Her things are still everywhere in the flat, and he doesn't think he can handle seeing it all.

"You're no good to anybody in this state, Lucas. The team needs you at one hundred percent."

The team. He thought he'd be ecstatic, proud, happy when he was referred to as part of the team again. But it doesn't seem to matter anymore, and that more than anything tells him he needs the time off. He manages a nod.

"Yeah, okay." He stands, rubbing his hands over his face before leaving the room.

He doesn't look at anybody as he grabs his jacket and leaves.

~

He spends most of the week drunk and sprawled on the living room floor. He hadn't wanted to try sleeping in the bed, but the couch had been too comfortable that he couldn't sleep at all. So he'd crawled onto the floor, like he used to do in the early days after Russia. It had helped him sleep somewhat, at least.

He only gets up to use the toilet and sometimes eat before collapsing back onto the floor. It's a sorry excuse of an existence, but it's about all he can manage.

He wonders if it'll be the same or worse when she comes back to break up with him.

~

He doesn't remember much of the week, not that there would be much to remember.

He wakes up more lucid than he has been, aching a bit, and realizes he's in their bed and she's resting easily in his arms. He's sure he's dreaming again - still - but she tells him he's awake and runs her fingers through his hair.

His washed hair. That she'd washed herself the night before, along with the rest of him. He buries his face in her neck, embarrassed and relieved and afraid. Is she going to tell him it won't work between them?

But that's not what she's saying, instead she says she'd liked bathing him and he feels guilty all over again.

"I'm sorry for denying you that for eight months," he says softly, cupping her cheek.

She sucks in a breath and he braces himself for the worst, but all she says is that they can't work if he can't be honest with her, that she doesn't know how long she'll be able to stay, but she doesn't want to leave.

She doesn't want to leave.

~

He extends his forced vacation to spend the weekend with her, answering her questions as best he can. He lets her bathe him, enjoying the simple intimacy, and he thinks... He thinks he could ease into taking baths and showers if it's with her.

When he finally goes back to work, Ruth does a double take and raises her eyebrows. He grins bashfully and ducks his head.

"I take it she came back?"

"Yeah. Yeah. We're working through it, but she came back. And she'll stay as long as she can take it." He doesn't think he's ever felt so at ease.

Ruth grins back at him, tilting her head. "She seems like a resilient woman; I think you might be stuck with her for life."

He hopes so. He really hopes so.


End file.
